The Long Road Home
by Stella McCoy
Summary: King Théoden's funeral procession has come back to Edoras, but not all who traveled back to their homes arrived there. A poignant moment for Éowyn coupled with the understanding and wisdom of Elrond's presence, and realizes she isn't alone in grief.


Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings trilogy, sadly, does not belong to me. Who wouldn't love all that royalty money coming in now? Please leave a comment or two on your way out.

The Long Road Home

Éowyn watched them ride in their solemn procession, winding through the plains surrounding Edoras. The company from Minas Tirith carried an exceptional man home, her uncle Théoden. For a time he had dwelled in the land of his birth, but a valiant company now bore him to his eternal home. She knew a large part of the company from her brief time in the White City, and spent the morning recalling them as she stood before Meduseld. With the funeral preparations long complete, she could find nothing else to occupy herself.

There was Merry, of course. He felt the loss of Théoden as keenly as she did. From bits unearthed here and there, she knew that the King had meant as much to her and Merry: an honorable, caring father that they had felt a deep connection to. She had been grateful for the hobbit's quiet comfort in the Houses of Healing and hoped to offer the same to him.

With Merry came loveable Pippin. Éowyn barely knew him, excepting that she owed him deeply for saving Faramir's life, but the youngest of the halflings had kept her laughing in carefree joy. Frodo and Samwise would be with them as well. Though they had not known Théoden, Éowyn knew from her brother's messengers that she was witnessing a great parting, as everyone was returning to where fate had found them. The Elven lords and lady were returning to their lands, men had been gifted back to the land of Rohan, the halflings were returning to their own homeland. She too would be journeying to her own home, if all hers and Faramir's dreams came true. It was a time of coming home, begun by her beloved uncle.

Biting back the sob in her throat, she fled back into the Golden Hall until she heard the approach of horses.

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She greeted the guests of Meduseld so graciously, few could see the grief that gripped her heart in its icy claws. She smiled at Faramir, but the smile did not reach her eyes. When she bowed to the Elves and welcomed them, they perceived sorrow and unresolved feelings in the young woman. Merry came to hug her warmly and, as she knelt to oblige, none saw the tears gather in the corners of her eyes and become buried in Merry's shoulder save one, the Elven lord Elrond.

Éomer embraced his sister when the hobbit had scampered away, leading her gently to the far end of the hall to formally welcome the company to Meduseld. Elrond watched her, carefully studying the White Lady and all she conversed with. She was charming and polite, hugging the weary travelers and re-making the acquaintance of others. Elrond perceived that she was exactly as King Elessar had said she once was, a beautiful flower beneath a sheen of ice. She appeared to be radiating warmth from within, but that warmth did not make its way past her skin.

Éowyn, trying to pay attention to her conversation with Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, did not see the Elven lord scrutinizing her. In an eye blink, the room swirled in her vision and was emptied of travelers, but full of a dull roar that seemed beyond her perception. It was empty, as Meduseld usually was under Théoden's rule. She spun in a circle, taking in Háma at the door, Gamling and Grimbold nearby, and, facing the throne, her wearied uncle and Wormtongue. She gasped, remembering, and abruptly felt someone grab her arm.

Turning, she flinched and realized that she had been jerked violently from a vision of the past. "My lord Elrond," she managed. "Was your journey…?" Try as she might, Éowyn could not get her thoughts together in order to finish her query.

Elrond gently took her elbow, leading her out of Meduseld. There Éowyn beheld the view she had that morning, and it served to calm her. "Lady Éowyn, are you well?" Elrond asked.

"I…will be fine," she replied slowly. "I need a moment."

He obliged, gazing impassively at the scenery while Éowyn composed herself.

"Thank you," she finally said, breaking the delicate silence between them. "I was…flustered, with all the noise."

The elf inclined his head. "I can see that you miss your uncle. There is no shame in grief."

Éowyn nodded miserably. "I know this, my lord. But that does not make it any less."

"I fear I did not know your uncle, King Théoden," the elf began. "I have heard many praise him on our way from Minas Tirith."

Éowyn nodded. "You will likely hear many more express praise before your stay here has ended."

"Long have I known the sons of Eorl, but I had never befriended one."

"You would not have found a more compassionate man than Théoden of Rohan, my lord."

Elrond smiled at the lady, noting the pride and love she felt for her uncle. "No, I do not believe I would."

Éowyn looked at the Elven lord. "Lord Elrond, if I may, I find you to be extraordinarily understanding about the loss of my uncle."

"In what way, Lady?" Elrond did not seem angered by her question, as she had feared, but more amused.

"Forgive me, my lord, but I did not expect to find an elf who understood my loss as you have." The shieldmaiden's head was bowed, as though ashamed of her ignorance.

Elrond gave a sad smile. "The Elves do understand loss, though the losses can be few or they can be many. My grief lies with my fallen comrades in battle and with my wife Celebrían in the Undying Lands." _And the loss of my daughter to mortality._

The blonde head slowly rose. "Then you understand my grief far better than I thought." A pause. "Would you speak of her to me?"

Elrond glanced towards Meduseld. "Celebrían greatly resembled her mother, the Lady of the Golden Wood. She was a caring, subdued creature, like a flower who preferred to grow overshadowed by the others." As he spoke, Éowyn perceived that his demeanor changed; he appeared less stern and less worn by the years. "She was attacked by Orcs many years past, and when my sons found her, she was changed, troubled and unhealed. She sailed into the west shortly thereafter." Elrond looked over the plains, finding the sky just beginning to darken. "I look to the day when I may join her."

"I do not doubt that I shall one day join my uncle in the honored halls of Eorl," Éowyn murmured, "but I no longer wish to join him so soon."

"In time, you will find yourself ready. For now, it is good that you have recovered fully, Lady Éowyn. The King imparted to me your story."

To his surprise, Éowyn blushed. "I am glad that I no longer have need of death. Now that I have come home, I wish to stay."

"Your sentiments have been echoed by many. We are all glad to be returning to our homes." Offering her his arm, Elrond gave her another slight smile. "Éomer-King will likely wish to toast your uncle soon."

Éowyn accepted Elrond's arm. "Thank you, Lord Elrond. I am glad that you rescued me."

"I was only helping you return to your own home, Lady." He led the young woman back into the Golden Hall, watching as she drifted straight into the young Steward's arms for the troth-plighting. At that moment, Elrond smiled, for everyone was truly on their way home.

_fin_

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